


Night Is The Day Turned Inside Out

by thedeadparrot



Series: Maybe Tomorrow-verse [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-08
Updated: 2009-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadparrot/pseuds/thedeadparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Roy and Hughes have a deep conversation and sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Is The Day Turned Inside Out

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so one April Fool's Day, the prank was me posting the header of a story that I had half-finished, but wasn't planning on finishing. Many thanks to mjules for looking over this and forcing me to finish. This wouldn't be here without her.

Loud music.

Familiar loud music.

Maes awakes from his nap with a start and claws the headphones off his head only to see Roy's familiar smirk. He's holding Maes' iPod and absently sliding his thumb over the clickwheel, either playing with the volume or going through Maes' collection of music.

"Four AM," he says, and Maes blinks, gropes for his glasses before realizing that they're still on his face.

"I was out that long?" he asks, checks his watch. Yup. Four in the morning.

His mouth still tastes disgustingly like sleep, and he has the strange urge to go after some mouthwash or a toothbrush or something. Of course, there's also the whole, "why the fuck is Roy waking me up at four in the morning" thing, but that can wait.

He rubs his eyes from under his glasses and runs his fingers through his hair. It's either too early or too late, though he's not quite sure which.

He's on his couch in his apartment. The lamp on the side table is turned on, creating the a small circle of light in the room. He thinks he remembers dozing off around eleven, thinks he may remember listening to something. That still doesn't explain why Roy is here, sitting on his sofa and going through his music collection.

"Coldplay?" Roy asks suddenly, eyebrow going up. "Why the hell do you have Coldplay on your iPod?"

"Maybe because I like them?" He thinks that maybe if he rubs his eyes a few more times, or even maybe pinches himself, or something like that, Roy will turn out to be a really obnoxious figment of his imagination and then he'll be able to go to bed and get some actual sleep.

"I think that this may be grounds for the termination of our friendship," Roy continues, though he sounds amused. He shakes his head. "I don't think I'll be able to go around knowing that I have a friend that likes Coldplay. They'd kick me out of the hipster club."

"It'll be our dirty little secret, then," Maes says. His mind is beginning to clear the sleep from his brain, and yet Roy is still here, so he's probably not imagining it. Damn. "Why are you here, Roy?"

Roy shrugs and continues to mess about with Maes' iPod. Avoiding the question. At least he doesn't seem particularly drunk or stoned.

"Please tell me it was at least worth waking me up for." This is getting kind of awkward, and they don't do awkward. Awkward is for people who don't spend nearly every waking hour in each others' physical company. Awkward is for people you've only met yesterday, not someone you've known for most of your life.

A beat of silence. Roy puts the iPod down onto the coffee table and leans back. "Anne broke up with me," he says.

Maes opens his mouth to say the requisite "I'm sorry", but Roy stops him with a death glare. Maes shuts his mouth.

"It's not even really that, you know? It's just... What the hell am I doing with my life?" He's turned his head away so that Maes can't see the expression on his face.

"Waking me up at ungodly hours of the morning?"

Roy turns his head back, and his face shows no sign of amusement. "I'm serious," he says, stating the obvious, as usual.

Maes rolls his eyes. "Well, you're in this band, you see. You get paid to travel around the country with your friends. You play bass pretty well. You get all the girls. You like to piss Havoc off every once in a while. And you are one of the most elitist pricks I have ever known, but that's okay, because Coldplay is actually pretty good. Now can I get some sleep?"

Roy laughs surprisingly softly at that. "You're right."

"Damn straight, I'm right. You know, deep down, that you love Coldplay."

"I meant, about what I'm doing."

"Roy, will you stop being a girl and just _tell_ me what's wrong?"

Another raised eyebrow. "I thought you liked girls, the way you always go on and on about how great they are."

"I'm cranky because I'm tired and you're being all strange and vague and it's freaking me the fuck out."

Roy looks away again, and Maes wonders why it's always like pulling teeth just to get Roy to tell the truth.

Neither of them says anything, and Maes finally takes note of the fact that Roy looks like he just woke up himself. His hair is not quite in the artfully messy way he usually has it, but actually messy-messy, and his greenish-brown T-shirt is wrinkled. Huh. He files that away for further analysis.

When it looks like Roy won't ever be fully forthcoming about whatever it is, Maes decides to lay down again. Not that he was going to fall asleep or anything like that. Just to rest a bit. He did only get five hours of sleep.

He doesn't quite manage to fully drift off before Roy wakes him again. With his lips this time.

"Mmpf," Maes attempts to say, but that doesn't quite work, so he decides that it would just be better to go along with it.

The kiss is strangely warm and lazy, unhurried, like Roy wants to savor it, and maybe Maes does too.

When Roy finally pulls away, Maes tries to take in his expression, which is still as blank and closed off as it was earlier. His head is blocking the light, and his eyes look blacker when backlit.

He's perched over Maes' body on his hands and knees, and while the position is familiar, this is the first time it hasn't been wholly innocent.

"What..." Maes asks, but it's not really a fully formed question, just a sort of half-statement to fill the air.

Roy's eyes close and he rests his forehead against Maes'. Maes closes his eyes as well, because really, isn't that what you're supposed to do?

Their breathing has become heavier (or maybe it just sounds that way), and Maes desperately wishes he knew what the hell was going on.

"Remember Tokyo?" Roy asks, and his voice is very, very far away.

Maes wants to say something glib, something stupid, anything really, as long as it diffuses the tension in the air. "Yes," he says instead, and the tension ratchets up a notch.

It feels like he's at the edge of a precipice, just a step away from falling.

He opens his eyes, stares into Roy's black-on-black ones, and wonders if falling would be so bad after all.

This time he reaches up and kisses Roy. The position is awkward, but he manages. It starts off as a mere brush, first, before he gets to courage to push further. This isn't some other world, like Tokyo, where you can come home and make excuses to yourself about jetlag and sake and the weirdness of personal space on tour and hey, Roy's mouth actually tastes better than he remembers from then.

Roy is beginning to lean back, up and off his hands, and Maes rises to keep up. Fingers slide under his shirt, and he hisses at the coldness of them against his skin. Fuck that's good.

It all moves surprisingly slowly. Knowing them, Maes would have guessed it would be all energy and recklessness, plunging headlong into something they wouldn't know how to control.

But it isn't.

Fingers tangle in hair. He's not sure whose in whose, but it doesn't really matter anyway. Roy pushes forward, and now he's straddling Maes' legs, and they're both hard and pushing against each other. Maes moves away from Roy's lips to explore elsewhere, his ears. his neck, his collarbone.

"Fucking surreal, man," he whispers onto Roy's skin, and he can hear Roy's exhalation that sounds at least halfway like a chuckle. He tastes good, like sweat and smoke and New York and Roy.

And fuck they're going to have to take off their clothes soon before this gets far too uncomfortable.

Roy's midsection (is that what you call it?) is strangely beautiful, even in the dim light, and Maes loves it, loves the trail of hair he finds there, loves licking his way up to Roy's chest as he pulls the T-shirt over Roy's head.

Roy's fumbling with Maes' button fly, not quite getting the whole "one at a time" concept, and Maes decides to help him. They manage to get the fly down (except for the last button) but the "getting the pants off the legs" part doesn't quite work so well, so they leave it a tangled mess around Maes' thighs.

Maes says it before he even thinks about saying it. "If there was a test for gay sex, we'd so totally fail."

Roy laughs at that, a real, honest laugh, and Maes grins, because he's happy and Roy's happy, and holy fuck, they're _having sex_.

 

Roy goes for Maes' neck, nipping and licking a path of wet fire across Maes' skin. It's good, better than good, and Maes thinks that a vocabulary is for people who aren't getting laid on a regular basis.

Fingers are slipping into Maes' boxers (they'd had trouble with those too), and they're still fucking cold (in a good way) or maybe it's just hot inside Maes' boxers. He snickers at that.

Roy almost pulls his hand out, but Maes manages grab it to keep it there. "If you stop, I will fucking kill you and eat your babies."

"You were laughing at me." Indigence. How Roy.

"No, I was laughing at how it was hot inside my boxers."

"Hot?" Roy's snickering now too. "Inside your boxers?"

"Shut up. I meant it about the babies."

And Roy's hand does go back, so Maes doesn't have to carry through with his threat. And really, considering how hard he is at the moment, that would be a little tough. The first stroke is fucking beautiful, fucking perfect, fucking _hot_ (except not, because Roy's fingers are still fucking cold), and Maes thinks he must have groaned. And the second one it just like it, but better, if that's possible.

Roy's just staring at him, like he wants to dissect him, and wait, that's kind of creepy, but then again, this was Roy they were talking about. So instead of thinking about it, Maes grabs him, and pulls him in for another kiss.

Tongues and friction and sweat and spit, and Maes is sinking into something, a haze where he feels everything and nothing at the same time, and Roy's pressed up against his leg, hard, and Maes wants it, but he doesn't know how or what or when or anything else, really, just that he wants.

So he presses back with his leg, and watches as Roy's breath hitches, his mouth falls open and his eyes go dark, darker than black (and Maes has no idea how that's possible). It's so strangely beautiful (and so very hot) that Maes thinks that he could just watch Roy come apart like this, that he could just wait if he could watch this.

But then Roy squeezes Maes' cock and it's hard to think about anything after that.

The buildup is slow, strangely relaxed, and when he does come, it's a little like when he's jerking off, but weirder because Roy's on top of him, and the angle's all wrong, but it's better, hotter, and why the fuck can't he find any better words to describe this?

Roy's still hard, and Maes still wants to feel it, without the layers of fabric between them. He pulls open Roy's fly (zipper, yes!) flips them over so that he's on top.

He pauses for a moment, and just _looks_, and maybe he understands why Roy was staring at him so intently earlier, because it's so strange and beautiful (there was a song about that, wasn't there?) to see him like this, his face surprisingly open and intense, and Maes thinks of gigs that were just _right_ and the naked openness (for Roy anyway) that he would always see on Roy's face.

It's like that here, except ten times more so, and Maes is torn between just staring and actually getting his friend off too, because he doesn't leave his friends stranded like that (except for when he does).

And it's a little weird to see Roy's cock like this, hard and leaking, and Maes thinks that maybe he should lick it. Like, just give it a shot. An experiment, really.

When he does, Roy twitches, almost like a flinch, an involuntary jump of his hips. Maes tries it again, just to see if it produces the same effect.

It does.

Maes takes a moment to consider this. Roy groans, deep and frustrated, "Fuck you, Hughes. Stop being such a fucking cocktease, you asshole."

Maes laughs. "I don't know, I think, 'Please, Maes. Suck my dick' would go over a lot better." He grins at Roy, and the exasperated expression on his face is just too good to pass up.

"Fuck you," Roy says and drags Maes down for another kiss.

Maes would say something about his mother and the way she would frown upon such language, but it's somewhat hard to talk with a tongue in your mouth, and besides, the last thing he really wants to think about right now is Roy's mother. Roy is hard against his thigh, and Maes pushes against it, practically feels the way Roy's breath speeds up just a fraction.

He pulls back far enough to see that Roy's mouth is open, wet, panting, but there's almost another 'fuck you' in his eyes. Roy rolls his hips up, grinding against Maes' leg, and Maes pushes back, because he isn't always above Roy's bullshit challenges.

He watches as Roy's eyes fall closed, as his mouth twists into a grimace, and thinks that maybe he should go easy on him. Maybe get a chance to practice his blowjob skills.

It's not exactly something Maes has done before, sticking an other guy's dick in his mouth, and even though he's had girls do it for him, even the thought still feels weird. He wraps his lips around the tip with a certain amount of hesitation, glancing up to see Roy's face, and fuck if turned on isn't a good look on him.

It feels really weird, and there's no way Maes is going to be able to deep throat it, but it's kind of nice, listening to Roy's short gasps as he sucks, feeling the way it fills his mouth.

"Shit," Roy mutters above him. "Fuck, I'm going to..."

Maes can feel the tension in Roy's body, and manages to pull off before Roy comes, shooting all over his stomach and chest. Roy goes boneless underneath him, one arm hanging over the edge.

"Fuck," Maes mutters, because that's all he can really say at this moment, and then Roy's hand comes up to cup his face and they're kissing again, soft and deep and slow, stickiness between them.

The fall asleep like that, with Maes' head tucked into Roy's shoulder, Roy's breath warm against his ear.

* * *

In the morning, Maes wakes up on the floor. It's oddly comfortable, staring up at the ceiling, but he's sure it can't be doing anything good for his back. Roy is still asleep on the couch, snoring softly, and it's almost like waking up from a night of getting drunk at someone's house, crashing on their floor because you can. Almost.

He had sex last night, he knows. Had sex with Roy, and there's going to be massive amounts of shit about that, from the band, from Liza, from the record company, if it ever gets out. There's Gracia to worry about, too. Maes likes her. Likes her a lot. Marry-and-have-kids levels of like.

But there's Roy, who's here, who's next to him, his eyes closed, and his mouth open. He looks ridiculous, but Maes likes it, likes it enough that maybe it's worth it, maybe enough to give up other things in his life, other things he wants.

He climbs into the shower, letting it wake him up the rest of the way, get his thoughts in order. The water is warm and soothing as it pours down his back. When he gets out, Roy is still asleep and Maes doesn't have the heart to wake him. It's time for his morning run, anyway, a good chance to stretch out all the cramped muscles from sleeping on the floor.

His iPod is sitting on a side table, where Roy left it last night. Maes grabs it on his way out, the cool metal familiar against the palm of his hand.

He has an exercise mix that he usually listens to in the mornings, so familiar he knows all the songs by heart, but today he puts it on shuffle, letting it pick a song random. A change of pace from the routine. As he leaves, he closes the door behind him and presses play.

 

FIN.


End file.
